Song of Songs
by LadyKnightSkye
Summary: Deanoned from the kink meme. There are stories across the galaxy about this one mudball with unexpected beings that have one very unexpected power. The Pict are about to find out those stories are very true . . .


**_Author's Notes:_**_ So, this was first written for the Hetalia-Kink meme. I decided that since it was cute and I liked it, I would deanon it over here. The request was for the different versions of Marukaite Chikyuu to have power when sung in each Nation's native tongue. I showed my first anime/manga love when I totally went Salior Moon on the request's butt. _

_Also, the different versions were mostly gleaned from the Hetalia wiki, but if you are fluent in one of the languages other than English and you see a mistake, please go ahead and tell me so I can correct the mistake. _

_Anyway, hope you enjoy!_

* * *

Veneziano knelt on the sand, his hands clasped in prayer, his mind searching for a way out. He could hear the obscene noises as the Pict aliens drew closer, probably to send him on to the same fate as the rest of his friends. Oh God! They'd even taken down Germany and America, two Nations that Veneziano would always depend on to keep everyone else safe.

His terror froze his mind, but deep within his soul something began to rise. He let the music well up, let it burst forth, instinctively knowing that this was what he needed to do. It was a melody older than even he could remember, a melody that he'd known since his very birth. His tenor voice burst out of his throat, and he saw the Pict closest to him start right before he closed his eyes.

"_Disegna un cerchio, ecco la Terra! Disegna un cerchio, ecco la Terra! Disegna un cerchio, ecco la Terra! Lo sono Hetalia!_"

Veneziano didn't see it, but the Pict began to slowly back away from him. In a world where everyone is the same, there is no music, no art. As he kept singing that refrain, they could feel their Princess's power retreating. They moved back towards the ship, trying to get away from the unfamiliar stimulus.

Laying on the beach, the being that had once been Germany stirred. Beside him, the blobs that had been France, Japan, Russia, China, England, and America stirred as well. Germany felt his face morph back into its normal, stern visage. His re-formed eyes scanned the scene, taking in quickly Veneziano's singing, the Pict's retreat, and his comrades' rapidly changing states. It was clear what he had to do in order to stop the Pict once and for all. Prussia had told him stories about this in addition to his own vague recollections of another time when he'd been called upon to use this particular power, though he knew he'd never done it as he was now . . .

"_Zeichne einen Kreis, das ist die Erde! Zeichne einen Kries, das ist die Erde! Zeichne einen Kries, das ist die Erde! Ich ben Deutschland!_"

Japan was the next to realize what to do.

"_Marukaite chikyuu! Marukaite chikyuu! Marukaite chikyuu! Nihon to moushimasu._"

Now, the rest of the Nations were by no means idiots – though sometimes they acted like it – so it only took seconds for several more voices to join the former Axis in song.

"_Tracez un cercle, c'est la Terre!_"

"_Draw a circle, that's the Earth!_"

Russia and China joined in with their versions, in their own tongues.

The melody weaved through the Pict, causing them to sway and move. Deep within the recesses of the Pict ship, the Princess watched and listened with ever growing awe and wonder. Stories of some of their galactic neighbors told of this strange, backwards mud-ball with its fragmented race and untamable biosphere. Among those stories had been tales of special beings, immortal beings who could band together and repel invaders with nothing more than their voices. As a proud Princess of her race, she had scoffed at that. Now, looking out at the scene before her, she no longer could.

America could only stare. It was that song! From the moment of his birth, he'd been able to hear the music everywhere in his country. He could hear it in the speeches his Presidents gave and the wind over the wheat fields in the Midwest and the rain in the Rockies. The oceans murmured it to him when he walked along the beaches of SoCal and through the ruins of Fort Sumter in South Carolina. It was a part of him down to his very DNA – what he had being what he was – and now he finally knew what the song was for.

He could hear it now, that eternal melody, issuing from his allies, but he could also hear it coming from a choir of Nations who were not there. He could hear Romano's thready tenor, Spain's jovial baritone, Hungary's throaty contralto. Switzerland's bad tempered baritone, Liechtenstein's gentle soprano, and Austria's cultured tenor. Cuba's laid back bass, Canada's shy tenor, and Seychelles' sweet mezzo-soprano. Denmark's boisterous baritone, Sweden's powerful bass, and Finland's adorable counter-tenor. Weaving through was Prussia's surprisingly pleasant baritone-bass along with Sealand's childish soprano.

All of the Nations of Earth, united in the one thing that could transcend language barriers and speak directly to the soul.

One piece was missing, one more voice was needed to complete the choir.

"_Draw a circle that's the Earth! Draw a circle that's the Earth! Draw a circle, that's the Earth! I'm America!_'

The words fused together, languages blurring until the Pict and their Princess couldn't hear actual words but instead merely the Idea, the Theme that permeated it all.

"_Draw a circle, it's all of us! Draw a circle, it's all of us! Draw a circle, it's all of us! We are the Earth!_"

There was no arguing with that song. It pushed, it grated, it awed until her underlings could no longer abide it. The Pict ran for the ship, packing the hull until none were left on the beach. The Princess had no choice but to release the planet from her hold.

It wasn't like she was going to be able to keep it anyway.

She gave the orders, the entire time trying not to be overwhelmed by the music. It was seething inside of her aural sensors, needling beneath her skin, trying to worm its way into her very being. She didn't know what it hoped to accomplish while there, but she didn't doubt that the music had a mind of its own.

While trying her best to not lose all of her people – one story of long ago told of this song wiping out all but a few of the invasion force – she took a quick look out the view screen. If she'd had a jaw to drop, it would have been in the vicinity of her ankles right about now.

The eight beings who had escaped her ship and caused her so much trouble no longer looked like themselves. All of them had skin whiter than a Pict's and their hair was bleached a perfect alabaster. Hairstyles no longer mattered – the strands swirled around their faces as if being buffeted by invisible windstorms. Eyes glowed golden and stared straight at her through the screen. She had the fanciful idea that they could in fact see her. However, the last thing she noticed before her ship was finally ready to lift off was what would stick with her the rest of her life.

Eight sets of wings, unfurled proudly towards the sky.

The next thing Veneziano knew, he was laying on the sand. His back and throat hurt like the devil, and his head pounded as if someone was using it for a drum. He sat up gingerly, hoping he wouldn't lose his that lovely supper he'd had last night.

"Italy? Are you alright?"

The gruff voice was a godsend. "Germany?" Italy whipped his head around to look his friend in the eye. "Oh Germany! You're okay!" Unthinkingly, he leapt into Germany's arms.

However, the blond didn't reprimand him. Instead, Germany gave him a big hug. "You saved us, Italy. Good job."

"Yeah! Good thinking on your knees there Italy!" America chirped.

The others chimed in, all of them grateful to the usually useless Mediterranean Nation. For once he was a hero.

"Yes, you saved everyone," Austria said. Italy looked up to realize that the World War Eight weren't alone. Half of Europe, a good chunk of Asia, a bunch of Africa, a dash of South America, a great deal of Oceania, and all of North America were clustered around them, wearing smiles of gratitude. "We're all in your debt."

Italy smiled his happy grin. "You're very welcome everybody!"

America snapped his fingers. "Party at my house everybody! Whole world is invited!"

There was a general cheer, and the requisite inquiry from Veneziano.

"Will there be pasta?!"


End file.
